


What’s Yours Is Mine

by supersoakerx



Category: Hungry Hearts (2014)
Genre: Domesticity, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Roleplay, Sultana Bran, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:35:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28238568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supersoakerx/pseuds/supersoakerx
Summary: Jude steals some of your breakfast--but it's OK, you make up.
Relationships: Jude (Hungry Hearts)/Reader, Jude (Hungry Hearts)/You
Kudos: 18





	What’s Yours Is Mine

**Author's Note:**

> I’m sorry but I am quickly becoming fucking obsessed with Jude?? And I love setting Jude’s stories in Australia??? Like of course he would move overseas and start a new life????  
> I feel like this is very specific and I'm so sorry--I just love this.

Spoons clink against bowls, but otherwise the pair of you are silent. You stand opposite each other, leaning back against the countertops in your cosy kitchen. Old houses [like yours](https://images.listonce.com.au/listings/101-fitzroy-street-surry-hills-nsw-2010/430/00598430_img_01_1600x.jpg?1) had small kitchens, which made preparing meals together a nightmare.

But it also made situations like this… interesting.

Jude clears his throat, scoops some more Sultana Bran into his mouth and chews on the crunchy flakes of wheat. He gazes at you, munching.

Dappled sunlight streaks into the room, catching on his hair, illuminating dust motes. The smell of instant coffee fills the air.

You swallow your mouthful and catch another spoonful of flakes and sultanas. You accidentally overfill your utensil with milk and as you spoon the cereal into your mouth, a small trickle of milk dribbles over your lip and onto your chin.

Jude clocks it with eyes as sharp and alert as an eagle’s, watches the swipe of your wet tongue as you lick up the white droplet. He chews a little slower as he takes you in: you, swiping the back of your hand across your chin and picking up your spoon for more.

He doesn’t say anything, and neither do you.

The chirping morning songs of butcherbirds and currawongs carry through the open window. There’s heat on the air, already. It’s going to be a warm day.

You sigh deeply as you spoon your next-to-last mouthful of cereal into your mouth, saving the chunkiest, sweetest bundle of crunchy oats and puffed rice for last. You catch the chewy sultanas in your molars and shred them down to nothing, licking them from the crevices of your teeth to swallow them. You see Jude doing the same, with his powerful canines and talented tongue.

The bottom of the bowl is cool in your palm, chilled and starting to condensate from the cold milk inside. Jude looks into your eyes as he tips his bowl into his mouth, drinking the last of the milk and dregs of wheaty crumbs.

You dip your utensil into your small dish, collecting milk in your spoon before bringing it to your lips to sup it noisily.

Jude raises his brows as he sets his bowl to the counter beside him—you know he hates that sound, and he knows you hate when he drinks the last of his milk like that. He folds his arms and sighs, licking his teeth.

You flip the spoon on your tongue, close your lips around it, and pull the utensil from your mouth.

Jude hunches lower slowly. His stretches his neck to lean his head down, like he does when he wants to get a little more level with your eyes.

“Mmm,” you hum, gazing at him, as it the metal tastes delicious.

Jude pushes off the counter instantly. He crosses the kitchen floor and closes the short distance between your bodies quickly. He glances down, spies the oaty cluster of goodness languishing in your teaspoon of milk.

He flicks his carob-brown eyes to yours and says, “you gonna eat that?”

“Yes,” you reply quickly, unconsciously pulling your bowl closer to your chest in defence of your last crunchy bite. The metal spoon slides on the small ceramic basin with a _shing_.

Jude lets a beat pass, regarding your defensive eyes and lips pursed in suspicion. “You haven’t yet,” he says, crowding your space and leaning his palms on the benchtop, confining you in his arms.

“Doesn’t mean I won’t.”

“I want it.”

“You can’t have it.”

Jude picks up the crunchy morsel from the bottom of your bowl, the little thing even smaller in his thick fingers. Two tiny droplets of milk ease down his thumb and index finger as he rolls the lump of sweet oats between them. “I can’t?”

“Judie. No.”

Jude’s eyes—rich, burnt umber—glint with malicious mischief. He pops the oat cluster between his teeth.

“Don’t you do it,” you whisper through clenched teeth.

He leans closer, caging you tighter to the kitchen counter. He could drop the thing into your mouth, if he wanted to give it back to you—but Jude doesn’t want to do that.

He bites down on it, and chews. It breaks apart on his tongue.

He eats it, right in front of your open mouth.

You glower at him with fiery fury.

Jude pries your bowl from your hands and sets it on the benchtop. He licks the milk from his fingers, before he presses a kiss to your clenched jaw.

You sigh, unhappy that he stole your treat and also, that he was probably going to make you run late. You hadn’t planned for Jude to want to play his games this morning, but if he kept kissing you like this, he’d soon break through your resolve as easily as he’d crack an egg into a pan.

You could play at resistance, but it would be just that—playing.

Still chewing, Jude’s lips linger on your jaw, just below your earlobe, in a soft kiss. He murmurs, “did that piss you off, dove?” He finishes swallowing and sucks on your lobe, gently tugging at it with his soft lips. “Are you shitty at me now?”

“Yes.” Your voice is like steel.

“Why?”

“That wasn’t yours, Jude. That was mine.”

“Yours to eat?” he says, grazing your earlobe with his tongue before starting a trail of small, slow, gentle kisses down your neck.

“Yes,” you say, trying to stifle a sigh and doing a poor job at it. “You didn’t,” you stutter over your words as his lips skim your sensitive skin. “You didn’t even say… please.”

“I took it from you,” he says, kissing back up your neck, tilting your head back with the tip of his nose. “That was rude, wasn’t it?” He licks over your pulse point, and sucks your skin into his mouth.

“So,” you moan, and then catch yourself. “Disgraceful, Jude. Children have better manners.”

Jude presses his body close to yours, and you feel him, stiff and ready. He rakes his teeth over your flesh, working that same special spot on your neck, biting a deep mark into your skin. “You’re angry,” he says.

“I’m,” your breath comes harder now, desire and arousal tingling in your nerves. “I’m pissed. You-you really ticked me off.” You skim down the front of his pants, seeking out his hot, swollen need.

Jude slides a palm from the counter, up over one of your breasts and then down between your legs. “Nothing could make you wanna fuck me right now.” He dips inside your underwear.

“If you even thought about it I’d—oh,” you sigh as Jude glides over your folds with the pads of his fingers.

“Hmm?” He rocks his erection into your palm, and skims down to your slickening hole to gather some of your arousal on his fingertips. “What would you do, dove?”

You slip your hand inside his pants, and your fingers graze his stiff cock. It sends a thrill up your spine, to find that he wasn’t wearing any underwear. You tilt your hips, to get him to sweep your slick over your clit. “I’d be so fucking mad at you.”

Jude nuzzles into your neck again, kissing and licking your skin. “You’d yell at me,” he murmurs between kisses, “you’d scream.” He slides two fingers into your pussy.

“Like,” you moan the word, your pussy holding him tight, “like you’ve never heard, Jude.”

Jude sighs when you make a fist around his dick, groans when you start to stroke him. His fingers probe your pussy with quick, shallow thrusts, the friction sending pleasure up your spine like firing a flare gun.

Into your ear, he says, “The last thing you want, little dove, is my cock.”

“I don’t want your dick anywhere near me,” you growl out quickly, widening your stance and arching your back to lengthen your cunt for him.

“Fuck,” Jude grunts—and the air around you changes, as sudden as the crack of a stockman’s whip. The pair of you pause for a millisecond, before he withdraws his fingers from your silky pussy and you release your hold on his cock. Hastily the pair of you tug down your clothes with clumsy, eager fingers, just enough to expose your lower halves to the other.

You spin and brace yourself on the kitchen counter, and Jude sidles up to your ass, pressing close quickly. He grips your hip, breathing hard. With his other hand he guides his cock along your pussy, sliding your cum through your slick folds and coating the head of his dick with it.

“You wouldn’t be wet for me,” he murmurs breathily.

“Nuh uh. No.”

“Your pussy wouldn’t puff up for me.”

“No, Jude.” You rock your hips back onto him, and the head of his cock breaches your slick hole.

You both gasp. Jude slides his dick along your silky pussy walls slowly, until he sheaths his cock fully inside you, groaning when he’s buried to the hilt in your tight, wet heat.

“And if,” he sighs, drawing back quickly before pushing into you slowly, “if I was—oh God.”

You grip the countertop with one hand, the other reaching underneath you to stroke your clit. “What, Jude?”

Jude sighs through his nose, building to a rhythm—slow in, quick out—as he grips your hips, fingers flexing tightly on your flesh. “If I was fucking you,” he huffs, grunts. “What would you say to me?”

You keep a deep groan rumbling at the back of your throat, not letting it turn into a moan as Jude tunnels into your cunt. Your pussy wraps around his girth and holds snugly to him, wanting to pull him deeper. “I’d tell you to fuck off.”

Jude hisses a curse.

“I’d tell you no.”

“Ohff-fuck,” Jude groans. His pace quickens, his strokes in and out of your pussy matching each other. The thrust of his hips starts to bounce you—back and forth between his wall of a body and the kitchen counter. “’No’? You’d say that to me?” he puffs.

“I’d fucking scream it,” you pant. “Over and over. Our neighbours would hear.”

Jude grips you tight, fingers clutching at your flesh. “They’d hear you crying for it?” He adjusts his stance, spreading his feet a little wider so he can fuck you faster and deeper.

“Yeah. I’d cry.” Your voice is breathless; your fingers brush your clit in time with Jude’s thrusts. “They’d hear me sob. Til you stopped.”

“What’s that sound like?” He snarls it, fucks you harder.

You let loose all the moans you’d been holding back, and your voice hiccups, broken up by his deep thrusts. “No, Jude. No, Jude.”

He grunts and groans, pulls your hips back onto his plunging dick as he ruts into you, you both half-naked and starting to sweat in your tiny kitchen. “What else, dove?”

“I’d tell you I don’t want it,” it comes out in a gasping, sighing breath. “I don’t want your cock. I don’t want you to fuck me.” Your fingers rub over your clit with easy, smooth strokes, guided by your slick.

Jude feels his orgasm rising. The pleasure in your voice as you say these things is too heady a combination for him to handle. His thrusts get sloppy as your pussy starts to squelch around his cock. He gasps, “you’d hate me?”

“Oh,” you moan, “I’d never forgive you.”

“Ohhfuck I’m gonna cum.”

You gasp and flick him a look over your shoulder. “No you will fucking not.”

“Jesus,” he scrunches his eyes up and looks away from your ass, panting as he looks at the tiled floor to keep his pace up. His fingers squeeze your hips hard as he tries to hold on.

“If,” you pant, and gulp down the copious drool that had pooled in your mouth. Jude’s hot, large hands clamp your hips almost painfully. “If you wanted to cum in me—”

Jude’s rhythm changes. He plunges slow, but hard, into your slick squishing pussy, grunting.

“—I’d… say…” Your mouth drops open as Jude burrows out your hole with his thick, fat cock, which seems to go on forever. He’s so deep like this, you lose coherence.

Shuddering breaths flow in and out through Jude’s nostrils. He picks up where you left off. “If I wanted to cum in this pussy—shit.” He curses as your pussy walls tighten up on him.

You feel it now too, pleasure spooling and seizing in your core as you graze your clit just right. You manage to get your words out. “I’d say—oh fuck—I’d say, don’t, Jude.”

He groans, a long, drawn out, ragged and desperate thing.

“Don’t. I’d tell you, cum outside me. Don’t cum in me, Jude.” You just manage to get your words out, between moans and sighs. “Don’t, Jude,” you gasp as your pleasure rises. “Not inside me.”

Grunting and gasping, Jude sneaks a look at where your bodies are messily, noisily joined. The morning sunlight reflects off his slick-glazed cock, and he gazes at the sight for only a moment before instinct takes over and he fucks into you with abandon—harder, faster, deeper than anything he’s given you yet.

You damn near squeal at the intensity—but shut yourself up quickly. If you’re not careful, the neighbours will actually hear this.

Your words ring in Jude’s head, along with the moans you try to hold back, as your pussy seizes on his cock. He ruts you so fast and hard that your bodies slap together as he thrusts, and on the sixth one, he can’t stave it off any longer.

He calls out your name, cries out that he’s cumming, and buries his cock to the hilt inside your pussy.

“Jude!” He pushes in deep and your orgasm overwhelms you. Your slippery walls pulse and contract rhythmically, massaging Jude’s cock as he spills deep into your pussy with jerky thrusts that are beyond his control. Your thighs shake, knees buckling as your whole body shudders through the blissful spasms and you hold tight to the benchtop like it’s the only thing keeping you upright—because it is.

When you finally stop squeezing him, Jude withdraws and quickly pulls his pants back on. Your muscles are loose, he knows, and he grabs you just before your legs give out.

He holds you, supports you, wraps close to your body from behind as you lean on the counter to catch your breath. He presses light kisses to your shoulder, through your tee shirt. “How do you do it?” he murmurs.

You brush loose, damp baby hairs back from your forehead. You feel Jude’s spend start to slip down your inner thigh. “Do what, boss?”

“Be more than I can take. Be everything I need. Be perfect for me.” Every sentence is followed by a soft, tender kiss. Jude coils around your body: warm, solid, protective—and his lips linger on your skin as he spies something out of the corner of his eye.

Your mug of tea, half-drunk and cold now. “Fresh one, dove?” he says.

Your eyes open softly, and your gaze catches on the long-forgotten brew. You turn your head to lay your own small, gentle pecks to his beauty-marked cheek. A new, hot cuppa to drink—after you get cleaned up—sounds lovely. “Thanks, bub,” you reply, tapping his arms around your middle to get him to release you.

You pick up your discarded bottoms from the kitchen floor and head to the bathroom.

Jude watches your half-naked form as you walk away, his gaze zeroed in on your bare ass. “I’ll put the kettle on,” he calls, wondering if either of you have time enough for round two.


End file.
